


Painting by Numbers

by Villainsaremorefun



Category: Deadpool (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, First Meetings, Fluff, Gay Pride, M/M, Pride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 04:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9641207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Villainsaremorefun/pseuds/Villainsaremorefun
Summary: The paint won't come off. Peter panics. A stranger lends a helping hand. Or, well, hands.





	

The paint won't come off. It smears over his cheeks and smudges over his fingertips, and Peter can feel frustrated tears stinging at his eyes. The giddiness drains from him as he gets closer and closer to the apartment building, and all he wants to do is start the day from the beginning again.

When he'd left in the morning, he felt a little bad for lying to Aunt May about where he was going, but he was uncertain, scared that, for whatever reason, a look of disgust would cross her face. He knows that's not the kind of person she is, he knows that she'll love him regardless, but it doesn't stop the rising fear and anxiety he feels when he considers coming out.

It had taken an hour to get to 36th Street, spent on the subway with a stocky British guy who'd flown out to march with his brother. It made Peter feel a little better, and British Guy was the first person he'd come out to. The resulting grin and firm handshake had been enough to fill him with hope.

Stepping out of that subway station was amazing. He'd walked into a whole new world, a flurry of colour, a blur of shouts, chants, Donna Summer. It took him a while to adjust, drink in the atmosphere thick with glitter and streamers. People were dotted up and down the street with armfuls of whistles, handfuls of flags and beads, little sticks of face paint. A steady stream of people were sweeping down the street, following the march. Peter got caught up in it too, and he was just conscious enough to pull out his camera. He took pictures of everyone who wanted to pose; a group of lesbians holding signs, draped in flags; a drag queen with a dangerously long train who seemed unfazed by the perfect, enthusiastic chaos around them; a happy girl with her partners; a guy who pulled Peter in for a kiss to his cheek once the picture was taken. Blushing, he'd stumbled onwards.

By the time he'd ducked into a little convenience store for something to eat, he'd gotten rainbows painted across both cheeks and there were strings of beads hanging from his neck. T-shirts and stickers were stuffed in his bag, having been thrown out by the floats. There were probably a few condoms in there too. He couldn't fault them for promoting safe sex. He bought himself a sad looking salad and bottle of juice, just because they were cheap. He needed something to boost him forwards. It was a little exhausting, and he could feel his feet aching already. He just wasn't ready to go home yet. There was so much left to see.

Peter stayed on the streets until most people had dispersed, either to clubs or to the countless parties he could hear on his way to the nearest subway station. He'd been kissed and hugged by countless people, and he felt like all the excitement and love in him would bubble over. The march had barely even ended and he was already looking forward to the one next year.

The bus ride is where it all went wrong. He peels stickers from his arms, takes the beads off and pushes them into his bag, turns his flag the other way around so it won't poke out of his bag, and scrubs a hand over his cheeks, but the paint won't go. He can't get caught with any of the beads or flags on him. The guys that hang around the building already take the piss out of him, he doesn't know what they'll do if they see this. He doesn't know what his aunt will do. He lets out a quiet, hopeless sound and puts his head in his hands.

“Want a tissue?”

Peter lifts his head slightly, blinking as he makes out the person sitting next to him.

A man in a hoodie has taken the empty seat beside him. He's not… unattractive.

“Please. I can't let anyone see this, God knows what they'll do.” Peter mumbles.

The guy takes a tissue from his pocket and gently cups Peter’s chin.

“It'll be easier if I do it.” He shrugs, but he waits.

Peter wonders if it's for him to say that it's alright. He nods.

The guy smiles and starts gently wiping at the stubborn paint. It takes a couple of minutes, but soon Peter's face is clean. The man doesn't go back to the back of the bus though. 

“Not out yet?” He asks.

“No. I just don't know how.” Peter sighs.

“It's alright. Nobody’ll make you. You don't even have to come out. Just kiss whoever you want, date whoever you want, screw whoever thinks you're damned.”

Peter smiles faintly. “I'll try.”

The guy returns the smile brightly. “Sure. I'll see you next year. I'll bring wipes.”

Sure enough, the man (who Peter learns is called Wade) brings baby wipes the next time Peter's on the bus back from Pride. 


End file.
